


Bully For Meg

by Parker4131970, RCs Many Posts (Parker4131970)



Category: due South
Genre: Bullying, F/M, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2020-04-28
Packaged: 2021-01-15 01:43:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 15,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21245447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parker4131970/pseuds/Parker4131970, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Parker4131970/pseuds/RCs%20Many%20Posts
Summary: Inspector Meg Thatcher encounters an old foe from her youth.





	1. Bully For Meg

**Author's Note:**

> This is my 50th due South fic, so of course, I'm doing something Meg/Ben.

Bully for Meg  
****  
Inspector Rozena Stone  
Personnel Division  
47 Maple Lane Suite #7  
Ottawa, Canada  
Dear Inspector M. Thatcher,  
I am writing to inform you that James Lyle, CEO of Mercantile Fabrications, LLC, will be arriving in Chicago on Tuesday the sixteenth.  
Mr. Lyle will require both a constant bodyguard and lodgings at the Canadian Consulate in Chicago. He will explain the details upon arrival.  
Regards,  
Inspector Rozena Stone  
****  
I read the letter twice and still couldn't believe my bad luck. James Lyle, my arch-nemesis and high school classmate was coming to Chicago.  
“Rat faced S.O.B.!” I hissed, seething with anger and dread. The third time I read the missive didn't change the context. My worst nightmare would arrive on the sixteenth, only a few days away. Part of me wanted to run; to resign and move to Bora Bora.  
Seething, I picked up the phone. I needed backup – Constable Fraser. Before my resolve faded I barked for Fraser to bring Turnbull and himself to my office. He didn't get a word in before I hung up.  
I had barely rounded the desk when I heard Fraser's tap on the door. I shouldn't have but I growled at them to enter. Fraser stepped in, shadowed by Turnbull. Both men's faces masked their apprehension. I watched Turnbull's Adam's apple dive and bounce back.  
“We have a visitor arriving on the sixteenth, James Lyle, CEO of Mercantile Fabrications. Ottawa has ordered us to provide lodgings and a constant bodyguard.” I went on to give them their assignments; Turnbull to the guest suites and Fraser to bodyguard duty.  
I ordered Fraser to stay in my office. He had to be made to understand how he should act. He stood before my desk, back straight, eyes forward. After a steadying breath, I began,  
“Constable Fraser, clear your schedule; no Detective Vecchio, no Twenty-seventh Precinct, no heroics while Mr. Lyle is here.” I hoped to drive home my point with one look.  
“Yes, sir, understood.” Fraser's disappointment showed through for only a split second but cut me to the core just the same. Lyle wasn't his problem but I'd punished Fraser anyway.  
“Hopefully, Mr. Lyle won't be here more than overnight.” I saw Fraser's expression soften – just a bit.  
We were able to get down to business after that. Fraser and I spent the rest of the morning designing a security plan for Lyle's arrival; transport, lodging and contingency plans. The only threat to James Lyle's safety would be me; if he hadn't changed since high school.  
****  
_**The Twenty-seventh Precinct …**_  
Ben walked up the front steps of the civil service building ahead of Ray.  
“So I have some tickets, everyone gets a parking ticket before they die,” the Detective said defensively. Ben stopped and gave his friend a dubious look over his shoulder as if to say, “I've never received a ticket.”  
Dief rolled his eyes at the humans. Try being chased by Animal Control goons, he thought.  
Mountie and Detective continued bickering as they walked toward Ray's desk.  
“Constable, Detective,” Welsh's deep voice intoned as he passed the desk.  
“Left-tenant,” Ben greeted him as the middle-age man eyed him warily.  
“Hey, Benton,” Francesca Vecchio cooed, “Ray,” she grumbled. As usual, the Detective's younger sister wore a mid-riff baring crop top and a scandalously high and tight mini skirt with her three-inch block heels. Ben kept his gaze well north of her plunging V-neck. Francesca's doe eyes and ruby painted lips didn't help. Fraser wondered for a minute what she'd look like without make-up.  
“Good morning, Francesca,” Ben nodded politely.  
“What's up with the Dragon Lady and this Lyle guy? This security plan you came up with, you'd think the Queen herself was coming for vacation.” Ray sipped from a Styrofoam cup on his desk then shuddered before putting the cup in the trash.  
“I've told you all the information the Inspector gave me,” Ben emphasized his commander's proper name. “Though she does seem apprehensive about his arrival.”  
“Apprehensive, eh, I couldn't tell the difference,” Ray muttered, an evil glint in his eye.  
Before Ben could admonish his partner, Lt. Welsh strolled up to Ray's desk.  
“Here's a new case, Vecchio, better get moving.” The older man's rumbling voice sounded tired; despite the early hour.  
Ray nodded, his mouth a grim line. A new case meant a new death or violent crime. Welsh walked away silently, staring straight ahead.  
“Fraser, you coming with me or what?” Ray asked, jangling his keys.  
“No, I should return to the consulate,” he declined.  
“Okay. Drop you off then?” the Detective offered.  
“Yes, thank you kindly.”  
*****  
_**The Consulate …**_  
I couldn't help but pace as I waited for Constable Fraser to return from the Twenty-seventh Precinct and lunch with that American Detective. How long did it take to outline a security plan and eat lunch?  
I checked my watch – fifteen minutes had passed. To myself I thought, The consulate has to be perfect. Lyle must not find anything to tease me about. Not this time. I began biting my thumbnail, something I'd broken myself of after high school.  
“Damn,” I growled before picking up the phone and making an appointment with my manicurist for after work.  
High school had been Hell on Earth for me. Middle school hadn't been a pleasure trip either. Teachers loved me and my classmates hated me. All that felt awful enough but I'd made James Lyle my enemy the first day of ninth grade. Mistakenly, I'd said hello and smiled. As an incoming ninth-grader, how was I to know he was a star rugby and hockey player? Measly freshmen with stringy hair and braces weren't good enough to say hello to James Lyle.  
But that's what I was, an awkward, mousy midget who thought being nice would gain me new friends. From then on James Lyle had gone out of his way to torment me; encouraging his teammates to as well. I'd had my backpack stolen, put in the trash and my locker vandalized countless times. I wasn't about to let history repeat itself. I'd overcome too much to let him tear me down again.  
****


	2. Allergies

** _Tuesday … _ **

** _O'Hare Airport …_ **

Nervous is an understatement for how I felt standing in O'Hare Airport waiting for Lyle. Constable Fraser stood beside me, his uniform spotless and buttons gleaming. If he hadn't blinked he'd have been mistaken for a mannequin. 

As for myself, I couldn't help but fidget despite my best efforts. All the previous evening I'd gone through my closet, looking for the perfect outfit, had my hair done and waxed my legs. I looked nothing like that pathetic ninth-grader of years ago. 

“Inspector, Mr. Lyle's flight has arrived,” Fraser said calmly, interrupting my thoughts.

James Lyle walked through the throng of people. At six foot three inches he'd always looked over most people but now he stood like a beacon among them. His ice-blue eyes and wheat blond hair drew attention from every female; married and single.

“Ah, Margaret, we meet again.” James came to stand in front of me, a shitty smirk on his face.

“James, good morning,” I greeted him coolly, struggling to maintain my posture. 

“My, you've changed since high school.” He gave me a critical once over. 

_ You haven't,  _ I thought, a rueful smile pulling at my mouth. 

Instead, I said, “How was your flight?” switching to a neutral topic, reminding myself that Ottawa had tasked me with James Lyle's protection.

“First class, as usual.” He flashed a smile, still a braggart.

“Shall we go?” I suggested frostily, praying his stay would be short.

**** 

A shorter man, nicely dressed in a dark suit came along behind James Lyle dragging two roller suitcases. He didn't say a word, simply nodding to Fraser. All four walked out to the waiting consulate car and Turnbull. Fraser helped the unnamed man stow the suitcases while Turnbull attended the rear doors. Fraser noted that Meg settled down on the driver's side of the backseat, her professional mask firmly in place. Beside her, James Lyle leaned back, a sly smile on his handsome face. Fraser didn't like what he read in their body languages. It didn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out they had a history; a bad one. 

“I see you've found a tidy, little position for yourself,” James said conversationally, glancing over at Meg. Fraser couldn't help but overhear as he squeezed in beside Turnbull and the mystery man accompanying Mr. Lyle. 

“Yes, I have. I made inspector at thirty-one,” she replied, head held high. 

“It must be a dampener on your social life, being a career woman,” James commented, looking out the window. 

Meg gritted her teeth at the dig. In the rearview mirror, Fraser saw him watching her reaction. He didn't like the look of satisfaction on James Lyle's face at the Inspector's anger. Then the Mountie wondered why the comment about her social life angered her so. 

“We've arrived at the consulate, sir,” Fraser's smooth tone interrupted just as Meg started to retort. 

The Inspector said, “Good,” with ice in her voice. 

**** 

** _The Twenty-seventh Precinct … _ **

Ray lowered his lanky frame into his desk chair well after his shift’s end. Instead of expensive, Armani loafers, he’d needed a stout pair of walking shoes. He wiped the grit out of his green eyes and ran his hands over his slick pate as he leaned back and rested his feet on the corner of his bottom desk drawer. 

“Vecchio, you have a call,” Elaine called from her desk near the front of the bullpen. 

“Tell ‘em I left already,” he called back, eager to get out of the station house for the night. 

“Its Fraser.” She smirked - just a bit - when she saw the detective heave himself toward the phone. “Line two.” Vecchio waved at her in sarcastic thanks.

“Hey, Fraser. I thought Thatcher had you grounded while Mr. Lyle was in town.” Sometimes he just had to ruffle the Mountie’s feathers about his boss lady. 

“Good evening, Ray. I am not ‘grounded’ as you say, but the Inspector has asked that I refrain from liaising with you and the Chicago Police Department temporarily. I’ve called on another matter.” 

Ray head his friend’s hesitation across the line. 

“Oh?” Ray prompted, smoothing his tie as he leaned back in his chair to listen.

“Would you mind terribly keeping Diefenbaker for me while Mr. Lyle is in town. He’s apparently allergic to dog hair. It would only be during the workday.” 

Ray closed his eyes and counted to ten. 

_ The things I do for the Mountie, _ he thought.

“How long is this guy in town for again?” he asked in an attempt to remind Fraser how big he was going to owe him for this one. The wolf-dog definitely had a personality and a mind of his own and didn’t behave in the slightest. He’d cost Ray almost as much money as Fraser in destroyed clothing. Not to mention the wolf-dog shed like none other. White fur EVERYWHERE in the Riv. It was worse than his nieces’ glitter. 

“If it’s a problem I can board Diefenbaker at the v-e-t-e-r-i-n-a-r-i-a-n.” He spelled the last word and from the sound of it was probably covering the phone with his free hand so that Dief couldn’t read his lips. “He gets terribly sulky and I won’t hear the end of it for weeks.” 

“Grrr. Alright. Alright. I’ll keep the wolf, but he’s sleeping in the garage. Last time he destroyed my bowling ball bag and Ma gave him the good, chipped roast beef I’d bought for sandwiches on poker night.” 

“Perfectly acceptable terms, Ray. Thank you kindly.” He heard a sulky whine in distance. 

“Diefenbaker sends his thanks as well.” 

“Yeah, I bet,” Ray groused. They discussed logistics a few more minutes before Ray hung up and could finally leave for the day. 

“Good night, Elaine.” He kept a steady pace toward the parking lot, his beloved 1971 Buick Riviera in sight and ready to carry him home. 


	3. Wolf Sitting

** _The Consulate … _ **

"Thank you, Constable Fraser. Pet dander has always given me hives.” Mr. Lyle sneezed again as he sat in the parlor of the consulate. From the doorway, Fraser heard Diefenbaker’s low growl. 

“I’m no one’s PET!” he seemed to say. 

“Allenz attendre, Ray,” Fraser instructed, making solid eye contact with the deaf wolf-dog. Grumbling, he deigned to obey. Only because he could guilt the human Ray out of forbidden food. 

“Are you certain you don’t want a Benadryl, Mr. Lyle?” Constable Turnbull offered. 

“No, thank you. I’ll be fine,” Lyle answered with a tight smile and narrowed eyes. 

“James, if you’re feeling up to it, I have a table reserved at _ Althea _ for eight this evening,” Meg offered, hoping against hope that his hives spread, though they must have been hidden by his tailored suit because she couldn’t see any on his face or hands. 

“I’m famished. Airplane food, even in first-class, is always lacking.” He smoothed his suit over his flat stomach. 

_ So much for hives, _ Meg thought ruefully. She instructed Turnbull to have the limo readied. 

** _*** _ **

** _Althea … _ **

James Lyle just HAD to sit in the back of the limo beside me, leaving Constable Fraser to sit with James’s associate across from us. I may have looked the part, but the very last thing I wanted to do was spend the evening between my arch-nemesis and Fraser. James’s mystery guest didn’t help matters, smiling enigmatically as he looked out the limo windows. The man had yet to be introduced to us. 

“So, Constable Fraser, how long have you known Margaret?” James started, fiddling with a gold cuff link as he spoke. I tensed as Fraser prepared to speak. He has a way of making the simplest answer awkward. 

“Inspector Thatcher has been my commanding officer for several months,” he answered neutrally. Short and to the point, thankfully. 

“Constable Fraser also liaises with the Chicago P.D. He’s garnered quite the reputation for the consulate and himself.” I usually chastised him for the things he did that made that reputation but James didn’t need to know that. 

“Yes, I heard about the Bolt train incident. You saved the day, Constable.” 

“Inspector Thatcher’s leadership was critical in averting the disaster.” Constable Fraser spoke without blinking. 

I blinked in astonishment as we pulled up to the restaurant. Without a backward glance, Fraser stepped out and assisted me through the door. 

“Thank you kindly, Constable Fraser.” I looked him in the eye and squeezed the hand he’d offered briefly. He only nodded, seeming to understand that it was for more than helping me step out. 

One of the many details I had Constable Turnbull take care of when Ottawa assigned James Lyle to my care was to reserve a table at the _ Althea_, Chicago’s premier fine dining establishment. I had only read of the highly ranked restaurant in the society pages of the _ Chicago Sun-Times. _ The dull, gray building situated between two charming brownstones surprised me. 

_ They’re trying to be ‘edgy’ I suppose, _ I thought as I looked up at the building. 

James took the lead at the door, opening it for me but leaving Constable Fraser and the mystery man to fend for themselves. Rude as usual. A hostess greeted us at the entrance with a bright smile and a low-cut blouse. 

“Welcome to Althea.” She had a sickly sweet voice that reminded me of cheap bubble gum. ‘Krystal’ with a star bobbed on a name tag attached to her white, cap-sleeved blouse. It was all I could do to keep from rolling my eyes. 

“Our reservation is under ‘Thatcher’,” I spoke firmly though the hostess’ attention barely wavered from James’s face. It’s usually Constable Fraser the women are ogling. 

“Right this way.” Krystal put as much wiggle in her walk as her tight miniskirt would allow. She laid out menus as James pulled out my chair. Having him at my back raised my defenses. I’d had gum and other unspeakable things put in my hair while in class or in the halls to trust him. ** **

“This is the Acropolis Room. I’ll leave you with Jane, your server.” Krystal introduced us to an attractive brunette holding menus. I admired her uniform; a pair of black slacks, a white collared shirt, and a scarlet vest. She wore it well. 

“Our menu tonight consists of …” Before she could get past the second course James interrupted. 

“Where is the wine list, sweetheart?” He leaned back in his seat like I’d seen him do so many times in school, looking at the waitress with diamond blue eyes. He’d used that condescending tone on all the girls, calling them ‘sweetheart’ as if they weren’t worth a real name. 

“One moment, sir.” James buried his nose in the menu while I wanted to bury my fist in his face. From the way the waitress reacted she’d dealt with crass jerks like James before. Awkward silence sat at the table like an invisible guest. What James and I had in common I’d rather forget, much less mention. I expected James to break the silence, to show off somehow.

I was not disappointed. 

“So, Margaret, I also read about the N.A.F.T.A summit. You were in charge of security, weren’t you? What was the man’s name that the U.S. Secret Service apprehended? De Cartes?” He eyed me subtly. Everyone at the table knew the point he was making. _ Another one of Margaret’s fiascoes, just like the train incident. _

“The gentleman’s name was Macon Lacroix. The Chicago P.D, as well as a Mexican security expert, were also responsible for the N.A.F.T.A. summit’s security. Detective Vecchio and I assisted. Lacroix was an unusually resourceful individual,” Fraser piped up. 

“This posting is one for trouble, isn’t it, Margaret.” Ostracizing Fraser, the gall of the man. 

I’d seen James use a similar tactic as a teen. He’d talk to someone else, about the person who’d spoken, blatantly ignoring the person who’d just spoken to him. Well, he wasn’t going to use me against Constable Fraser. Besides, I felt the need to show Constable Fraser that I could handle myself. 

“I don’t think I caught your name, Mr. …” I turned to the as-yet-unnamed man accompanying James. 

“I’m Alberto Edvige, most just call me ‘Mr. E’.” His beady eyes and enigmatic smile sent a warning chill up my spine. 

“Mr. E is a business associate of mine.” James straightened in his seat. Before I could respond, the waitress returned with the wine list. 

“None for me, thank you kindly,” Constable Fraser’s usual response to the wine list. I, on the other hand, needed something stiffer than wine. 

When James ordered the most expensive bottle on the list I nearly choked on my water. Bastard! He knew this dinner was on the consulate’s dime. It would reflect back on me. 

It was one snide remark and slight after another all evening. Constable Fraser kept a straight face and re-directed the conversation as much as possible. I began to suspect he was more of a diplomat than I’d thought previously. Perhaps he’d dealt with someone like James Lyle before? 

I didn’t have time to dwell on it. 

The check came. Between the tip, the wine, the meal, and sales tax it came to just over a thousand dollars. I almost fainted.

“Deep breaths, Inspector.” I heard Constable Fraser’s voice near my ear and felt his hand supporting my elbow to keep me upright. 

“Here you go,” I managed, laying down the consulate credit card. Ottawa was going to have a field day with me when it came time for budget negotiations. 

“Why couldn’t he have had hives?” I muttered to myself. When I looked at Fraser he had an amused expression in his eyes and the corner of his mouth twitched. 

**** 


	4. Settling the Bill

** _The Next Morning: Meg's P.O.V. … _ **

After a little of Canada’s finest whiskey, I managed to calm down enough to sleep. I tried to approach the situation like a calm, collected professional; to view James Lyle as an uncooperative criminal I had to deal with. Even so, he still had the upper hand on me. He’d come along in a time in my life before I had coping skills. I reminded myself that I was in a position of power now, that others respected me and that I respected myself too much to let his juvenile behavior affect me. 

I reflected on my mother’s words from all those years ago. “Don’t feel bad, Meg. Guys only pick on girls that they really like. He just doesn’t know how to express himself.” She’d patted my hair and went on about her business while I stared into the mirror looking at my freakishly large glasses and braces. My long, stringy hair and pimples didn’t help my image any. 

“You can do this, Meg,” I told myself the next morning as I stared at my now thirty-something image. No more braces, no more pimples and I’d carefully cultivated my looks, filling out here and there, keeping it toned in the gym. 

In my best ensemble and killer heels, I went off to the consulate. 

****

** _The Consulate … _ **

“A thousand dollars! One thousand U.S. dollars! On one dinner!” 

Free from an audience, Inspector Thatcher began a tirade. Constable Turnbull had taken James Lyle and Mr. E into the financial district for a meeting. 

Constable Fraser and Detective Vecchio walked into the consulate after breakfast but before their duty shifts. Vecchio gave his unofficial partner a quizzical look, for which he received a big shrug. Ray had yet to meet Mr. Lyle. 

“The bill for dinner last night at Althea was quite steep, to say the least,” Fraser spoke quietly. 

“Constable Fraser, is that you?” Inspector Thatcher stepped out into the hall outside of her office. Her dark eyes zeroed in on the two men. 

“Gotta go, Fraser. Good luck.” Ray slapped his friend on the shoulder and turned to leave. 

“Ray, I owe you for breakfast.” The Mountie stepped after his friend.

“Never mind, Fraser. See ya later.” The door banged closed behind the detective almost before he’d finished speaking. 

“Constable.” Thatcher’s dark tone didn’t bode well. 

“Oh dear,” Fraser murmured before turning around to face his superior officer. 

“Yes, sir?” He straightened his back and stepped toward the dragon’s den. 

The Inspector paced across the front of her desk, three steps one way, turn, three steps back.

“Ottawa, in all their wisdom, has declined to pay for last night’s dinner, citing …” She held out the fax she’d received for Fraser to read for himself. 

“Oh dear.” He began running his thumbnail across this eyebrow as he scanned the page. 

“Now I’m responsible for five hundred dollars of last night’s bill. Half of that was your meal and _ you _ are going to pay for it. Do you understand me, Constable?” She stopped dead to fix Fraser with a piercing glare, daring him to wiggle out of it. 

“Yes, sir.” He’d paid off some expensive property damage in his day, but never a two hundred and fifty dollar meal he’d eaten. 

_ I’ve eaten better-tasting field rations, _ Fraser thought as he watched Inspector Thatcher pace. 

“Dismissed, Constable,” the Inspector barked a moment later. 

**** 

_**Mister E. Meeting … ** _

Turnbull carefully navigated the busy streets of Chicago’s business district all the while humming “Frere Jacques” out of tune. He drove, oblivious to the annoyed glares James Lyle sent his way. 

“Here we are, Constable. We’ll find out own way across, thank you.” James pointed to a new high-rise office building on the opposite side of the street. 

“My apologies, Mr. James, but there doesn’t seem to be a crosswalk. I wouldn’t want you to get a ticket for jaywalking.” Constable Turnbull eased around the building twice before finding a parking spot along the street. Long before the automatic door locks released James Lyle wanted to strangle Frere Jacques and Turnbull both. Mr. E kept his own council but his small, dark eyes took in everything. 

“Ten minutes late, thanks to that buffoon,” James groused as he strode into the up-scale building’s foyer. He missed the gray slate tile and earthy brown accents interspersed with water and plant elements. James Lyle marched up to the desk and gave the receptionist his mega-watt smile. 

“I’m here to see Mr. Lemoine Tovey.” 

“Just a moment, I’ll let him know you’re here.” The receptionist nearly swooned when James gave her a quick wink. A moment later she was escorting him and Mr. E to the elevator doors. 

James shook his head after the doors slid shut. _ I still got it, _ he thought as he grinned to himself. 

Lemoine Tovey took his time rising from behind his massive Gothic Victorian desk. He wore a tailored, light gray suit a shade paler than his hair and a tie-pocket square combination to match his ice-blue eyes. From the heavy, ornate furniture to the large painting of an English fox hunt to the left of the desk, on would have expected to see an Irish wolfhound laid before a roaring manor house’s fire. 

“Good morning, gentlemen.” He shook hands with them; a firm, dry grasp that meant business. 

“Mr. Tovey, my associate, Mr. E,” James introduced the two. All three men settled around the desk to decide the future of Mercantile Fabrications LLC. 

“As you may have heard, a package containing fraudulent driver’s licenses and card stock for more was confiscated by U.S. Customs at a mail facility in Louisville, Kentucky,” Tovey began with an emotionless expression. “My interest in your business, Mr. Lyle, is in shipping. In exchange for the use of your shipping department between Canada and the U.S., I’ll ensure you receive ten percent of the revenue in my falsified identifications arrangement.” 

James looked over at Mr. E with his head tilted a bit and brows furrowed. His silent associate only lifted one dark brow. 

“Ten percent isn’t enough to cover the risk I’d be taking. I’m in good standing on both sides of the border, all the way to South America and into Europe.” He wasn’t above shipping a little something extra, but not for that pittance. 

Mr. Tovey pulled a manila envelope from a locked drawer in his desk and laid it on the desktop. 

“I’m allowing you ten percent as a favor. The forty percent I’m keeping to forestall sending these photos to the police in both the U.S. and Canada.” It was Tovey’s turn to lean back calm and collected in his chair. James unfastened the envelope and slid out a sheaf of photos of a scantily clad woman in full dominatrix gear wielding a whip over a chained and gagged James. A few of the photos showed young, nubile male and female participants that had a 50/50 chance of being underage. James shoved the pictures back in the envelope and tried not to turn an unhealthy shade of puce. 

“That’s blackmail!” James nearly crossed the desk on Tovey. His sparkling blue eyes had turned to lightning in his rage.

“Mr. Lyle, come now. There’s no need for such dramatics. Ten percent is a tidy sum compared to decades in jail.” Mr. E pulled James back into his seat as Tovey stared him down. 

“I’ll give you a few days to think it over. I’ll expect my answer before you’re scheduled to leave, Mr. Lyle.” Tovey rose and ushered the two men to the door. 

“You bastard!” James snarled on his way out. He tugged on his jacket which had become askew in his rage-filled lunge for the predatory businessman. 

“Good day, gentleman,” Tovey bid then with a nod. 

James outpaced Mr. E on their way to the consulate car. “He has no idea who he’s crossed this time,” he vowed as he slid into the backseat behind Constable Turnbull. 

“Where to, gentlemen? Lunch perhaps?” Turnbull turned and asked in his usual good-natured way. 

“Off a bridge,” James huffed before muttering something akin to ‘moron’ under his breath.

“Back to the consulate, please, Constable Turnbull,” Mr. E. answered in his longest speech so far. 

**** 


	5. Customs

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I have been incredibly slow writing and posting this fic. My apologies and my thanks to those who with the patience to continue reading.

_**The Consulate…**_  
I enjoyed what time I had at the consulate while James Lyle was at his meeting. The letter I’d received from Ottawa said he would explain his need for a constant bodyguard and lodging but he still hadn’t. I really didn’t care why he was in Chicago, I just wanted him to leave -- immediately! His creepy, beady-eyed associate could leave too.  
I wondered what James was up to now. He’d been a passable student in school, though he had repeated a grade, supposedly in order to be eligible to play school sports longer. I had skipped a grade, so I was two years younger but in the same grade level.  
After graduation, I attained my degree in three years and then entered the R.C.M.P. Through the grapevine, I heard that James had gotten a degree in business and went to work in his father’s company. The research I’d done before his visit told me he’d maintained the company but not expanded it in the least.  
A loud knock interrupted my thoughts.  
“Come in,” I called, hoping it was anyone but James. Thankfully, it was only Constable Turnbull.  
“Inspector, Mr. Lyle and Mr. E have returned to the consulate. Mr. Lyle has made arrangements for dinner tomorrow.” Turnbull handed me a slip of paper with the details.  
_He’d better be the one paying then,_ I thought as I scanned the name of the restaurant and the time of the reservation.  
“Thank you, Constable Turnbull. Tell Mr. Lyle I’ll meet him at the restaurant.” Turnbull had barely closed the door when I hear the fax machine ring.

Insp. M. Thatcher,  
U.S. Customs and Border Patrol has alerted the Canada Customs and Revenue, Citizenship and Immigration Canada and Canada Food Inspection Agency to the recent discovery of fraudulent identification and the components necessary to create more during a routine mail inspection in Louisville, Kentucky, U.S. …

The notice went on to prompt all consulates, border crossings and anyone else dealing with passports to be vigilant in their inspection of identification. I scanned the list of tips on what to look for in fraudulent ID -- a bunch of things I already knew by heart. Still, I had to make sure my team was up-to-date. I called my junior officer into the office.

“Constable Turnbull, please make enough copies of this for the whole staff. Thank you.” I dismissed him without ever glancing up.  
“Sure, just show me where the Xerox machine is.” James Lyle’s voice startled me.  
“Oh, James. I didn’t realize that it was you. May I help you?” I asked, hoping to get the displeasure of his visit over with.  
“Constable Turnbull tells me that you’re in solid with some of the influential business leaders here in Chicago. I was wondering if you might introduce me to some of them at dinner?” He looked down at me from his perch on the edge of my desk, no doubt hoping for a flash of cleavage. Thankfully, I was wearing a suit jacket and scarf.  
Tap, Tap  
“Oh, pardon me.” Fraser stopped abruptly at the door when he saw us at the desk.  
“Constable Fraser, come in. Mr. Lyle was just leaving.” I hoped James took the hint and left, the sooner the better.  
“You haven’t given me an answer, Margaret,” he said, ignoring Fraser.  
“Perhaps I can come back.” I could see the inclination to run on the Constable’s face.  
“Perhaps tomorrow, Mr. Lyle. I have plans with Fraser this evening.” When I looked to Fraser I thought sure he would faint. His face had paled and he’d begun tugging at his collar.  
“Plans, eh?” James’s smirk made me sick to my stomach. How could he make two words sound so dirty?  
“What about dinner tomorrow, think you could introduce me to a few of the business men you’re so well acquainted with?” James finally stood up but leaned on my desk, nearly in my face. I stood up to my full stature, putting me eye-to-eye with him as he leaned in.  
“Good evening, Mr. Lyle.” I gave him my best Ice Queen glare.  
“Good evening, Margaret,” he sneered before turning his attention to Fraser. “You and Margaret have fun, Constable Fraser.”  
I wanted to tell him to eat shit and die but I was too much of a professional and a lady.

“Plans, sir?” Fraser asked as soon as the door clicked closed. He stepped up to my desk with the fax held up like a shield.  
_You’ve done it now, Meg,_ I said to myself as I settled back into my chair.  
“Constable Fraser, at ease. I detest James Lyle every bit as much as I detest Henri Cloutier.” Fraser visibly relaxed and nodded thoughtfully. _Good, he understood my need for another rouse._  
“Was there something you needed me for this evening, Inspector?”  
Was I imagining it or did he have a hopeful glint in his eye? Did he want me to have plans for us?  
“Ah, well,” I came up dry. “No. Dismissed, Constable Fraser.” I could have banged my head on the desk. A perfectly good opportunity wasted to spend time with Fraser, even if it were the yearly expense audit I’d been procrastinating on for two weeks.  
“Understood. Good evening, Inspector.” Constable Fraser left my office without ever telling me what he’d needed.  
****


	6. It's Heating Up

** _The Consulate … _ **

** _Second Floor … _ **

“We have to do something about Tovey. Thatcher received a fax today about passports and fake IDs. If they’re on to him we aren’t far behind.” Lyle paced his suite on the second floor of the consulate as Mr. E sat at the writing desk near the window.

“Calm down, Lyle. If Tovey goes down it’s only his word against ours,” Mr. E assured the younger man. 

“His word against _ ME_. It’s me he has compromising photos of.” Lyle muttered a few colorful phrases about Tovey’s lineage and what he could do with his blackmail photos. 

“Tovey has been into trafficking far too long to get caught now. Don’t worry, just keep that inspector busy.” Mr. E mentioned Inspector Thatcher casually. James stopped pacing. Mr. E watched as the younger man’s face changed. His blue eyes gleamed and the pearly whites he used to dazzle female receptionists shone like cat fangs. 

_ I don’t know who is worse, Tovey or Lyle, _ Mr. E thought to himself. 

**** 

** _I-57, Southside of Chicago, Illinois … _ **

Twenty-two pairs of eyes glowed in the dim light as officers threw open the double doors of the cargo container. A gush of foul air hit the officers in the face. Sweaty body odor and fetid sewer smell battled for dominance. The occupants’ usually dark complexion had turned ashy and their jet black hair hung in greasy, limpid strands around their faces. 

“You are safe. Please come out,” an officer spoke to them in their native tongue, his accent strong even though he was a second-generation American. 

Women with children began filing out first, blinking and clinging to their little ones. Most of those packed into the cargo container were younger than forty. Officers began taking the occupants’ names and information as well as passing out drinking water and blankets. One name kept coming up: Mr. E. 

**** 

** _The Twenty-seventh Precinct Station House … _ **

When Fraser walked in the whole station seemed to quieten down. Diefenbaker’s white plume of a tail bobbed as he made a b-line for his human. 

“Yo, Fraser,” Ray greeted him as they took their usual seats across the desk from one another. 

“Good evening, Ray.” The Mountie spoke to the detective but gave the half-wolf a good ear scratching. 

“He’s mooched off everyone here - per usual.” Ray pointed at the wolf who didn’t deign to acknowledge being told on. 

“Here’s a copy of that fake ID case file U.S. Customs sent over.” Civilian Aide Elaine Besbriss’s smile brightened when she saw Fraser. 

“Hey, Constable Fraser.” Diefenbaker left his human to dance at the Civilian Aide’s feet, begging. All he received was a good head scratch. 

“Elaine, hello. I hope Diefenbaker hasn’t made a nuisance of himself these last few days.” Fraser gave the wolf-dog a warning look. 

“He’s fine. I enjoy having him around.” To which the white lupine sat down proudly, his chest puffed out. 

“Is this all Customs sent over? I don’t see the initial report from Louisville,” Ray snapped, pulling Eliane’s attention back to the task at hand. 

“Yes, that’s the whole file,” Elaine answered as she crossed her arms over her chest and raised one brow. 

“Elaine, will you please call Customs and ask them to send over that report?” Ray sweetened his tone when he saw Fraser’s matching displeased expression.

“Gladly, Ray.” Elaine smiled. 

“Thanks, Elaine,” Ray called as she walked away. 

“Now, was that so difficult, Ray?” Fraser chided. 

“Back off, Mountie. Lt. Welsh dropped this case in my lap ‘cause I liaise with you and the consulate.” Ray picked up the corner of the thick file folder and let it drop back into place. 

“If that isn’t bad enough, there was a container truck found at the docks with twenty-something illegal immigrants and Lt. Welsh wants me to see if there’s a connection between the two.” Ray shook his head as he leaned back in his desk chair. He forced out a heavy breath before running his hands down his face. 

“I read about that in the newspaper. I’m sorry, Ray. It must have been a terrible scene.” Fraser turned his Stetson in his hands as he remembered the article. There were twenty-two survivors but a dozen perished, some of them children. 

“Yeah, a real kick to the guts, you know.” Ray laced his fingers behind his head and closed his eyes. Fraser only gave a sympathetic hum. 

“Is there any way I could help, Ray?” Fraser offered. Those immigrants had started out hoping for a brighter future, the least someone could do was find those responsible for their dismal deaths. 

“Sure. As soon as Elaine brings that U.S. Customs report you can read it. This is gonna take me half the night to read.” He indicated the thick file recently laid on his desk. Fraser nodded. 

“I’ll take the opportunity to order dinner. What would you like?” Fraser helped himself to the telephone at Ray’s elbow. 

“Miguel’s and get an order of something sweet to go with it.” Ray answered as he leaned back so Fraser could dial.

“And salad,” Fraser added to which Ray rolled his eyes. 

**** 

** _Undisclosed Location … _ **

** _Payphone … _ **

The middle-aged man picked up the handset of the corner payphone. Thankfully, the city had set a streetlight nearby so he could see to read the long-distance calling card he held up to the light. 

“Hello,” a disinterested male voice answered on the second ring.

“Conundrum.” The caller heard a faint click before the other end responded.

“Go ahead, Conundrum.” 

The middle-aged man in the phone booth took a breath in before speaking. “Lyle is becoming nervous. The consulate received a fax today reminding them to be vigilant about passport and identification forgery. He’s not happy with Tovey either. Tovey has some pretty damning photographs as blackmail material. Lyle is manageable but just barely.” The man eased the handset back from his face to let out a tired sigh. 

“U.S. Customs’s timing couldn’t have been worse. Keep us apprised of the situation. We’re working the case from our end as fast as we can.” 

“Will do.” The man hung up and scanned the street before exiting the phone booth. No one had followed him. Still, one could never be too cautious. The sooner this assignment wrapped the sooner he could move on to a safer one. 

**** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know my updates have been sporadic and I'm sorry.


	7. Interview Insights

** _Meg’s Apartment … _ **

I searched my closet for the civilian equivalent of a nun’s habit. The weather precluded a turtleneck leaving me to choose from an assortment of collared shirts. I felt the same sinking feeling in my walk-in closet as I had every day as a teen. Nothing had looked right; not my hair or my clothes. James and his teammates made comments about me from head-to-toe. 

When that finally ceased to cause a stir James began encouraging his girlfriends to harass me. If I had a loonie for every time one of those girls hissed snide comments where only I could hear; things about having a flat chest, that I’d die a virgin and calling me pizza face as well as other things. I shoved all that back into its box and pulled out my most drab blouse and pants suit, topped them off with a scarf and flats before heading out. 

_ Just a few more days, _ I told myself.

*** 

** _The Consulate … _ **

I mounted the steps up to my office hoping to dodge everyone. I’d arrived early to drink my coffee and check my email. 

_ When are they going to come up with something faster than dial-up, _ I asked myself.

“Well, well, Meg, good morning.” At the unexpected sound of James’s voice I gripped my Styrofoam coffee cup until it popped.

“James, hello,” I managed. “You’re out and about early.” He followed me to my office.

“I was hoping to spend some time - alone- with you, Meg.” James fixed me with those sky blue eyes as he ran his tongue over his lower lip.

_ That’s a new tactic,  _ I observed silently.

“Why are you here, James?” Enough beating around the bush. 

“Now, Margaret, can’t two old school chums catch up?” 

Shark chum, as Detective Vecchio might say.

“I have work to do, James. Please leave me alone.” I met his gaze and held it. If only I had done that years ago. 

“Just as much a bitch now as when we were kids.” James stood up; towering over me. 

“I could say the same thing about you,” I shot back. James’s face flushed and the cords on his neck raised beneath his collar. My heart sped up when he leaned forward and into my face.

“You …” His words halted at the sound of a familiar male voice.

“Good morning, Inspector.” Fraser let the door to my office bang. Both of us looked toward the constable framed in the doorway. 

“What do you want, Constable Fraser?” As glad as I was to see him, Fraser had terrible timing.

“Here is my daily report from yesterday, sir.” As he advanced James backed off. I felt my muscles relax with every inch he put between us. 

“Thank you, Constable.” I stood up to follow him as my mind scrambled for a reason to do so - any reason. 

“Ah, do you …” 

_ Why does he walk so fast, _ I grumbled silently. 

When he finally stopped and turned I saw his Mounti-mask slide into place; all but his eyes.

“Yes, sir?” 

I came up short when I saw the white heat in his blue, blue eyes. 

“Ah, do you have anymore information on those immigrants found in that container?” 

“No, sir. As far as I know they are in a detention center outside the city receiving medical treatment and being assessed on an individual basis for asylum in the United States,” he answered dryly. Really, I could have called the Consulate General of the People’s Republic of China and received more information than that but darn it, I just had to save-face. 

“I’ll call the Chinese Consulate and offer assistance. Constable Turnbull speaks Chinese, perhaps he could translate.” I began arranging a to-do list in my head. Perhaps a little assistance to another consulate would look favorably on Turnbull and my service records. 

“Sir, Constable Turnbull speaks Hiri Motu, the official language of Papua, New Guinea. I speak a smattering of Cantonese and Mandarin,” he reminded me. 

_ Of course you do. You can speak anything fluently except to me, _ I brooded a moment. 

“If you wouldn’t mind assisting the Chinese Consulate in their efforts I’ll reassign some of your duties to others; sentry duty and such.” It would still look favorably on my record. 

“Very well, sir.” He nodded but his eyes never left mine. For a time I stood staring into his face, captivated by the lines, planes and curves constructing his face, his eyelashes and the line of his smooth jaw. The phone in the foyer ringing brought me back to earth. Fraser turned away quickly, leaving me to blush in private. 

Or so I thought.

“I see how it is, Margaret. I see you eyeing your constable. You want him BAD.” James had slithered out into the hallway outside my office just as the phone rang. 

“Have you two banged it out on your desk yet, Margaret?” The last part James whispered in my face as I stepped level with him. The sound of his deep voice and the feel of its grumble made me tremble. Not breathing, I stepped on past him and into my office. I closed and locked the door behind me. Then I let my stone face slip.

**** 

** _Consulate General of The People’s Republic of China …_ **

Here you go, Fraser, the Chinese Consulate.” Ray shifted the Riviera into park as the Mountie adjusted his Stetson. Diefenbaker stuck his snout between them,m not to be left out.

“Actually, Ray, it’s the Consulate General of The People’s Republic of China,” Fraser corrected as he opened the passenger door. Dief wiggled out behind Fraser’s seat, anxious to leave his calling card in a new neighborhood. 

“A big name for a big country,” Ray shrugged. 

“It is indeed, Ray. Thank you kindly for the ride.” Fraser tipped his hat as he leaned down to speak through the open window.

“See ya later, Fraser.” Ray merged into traffic without looking at the metal building as large as an airplane hangar and just as ugly. Two armed guards stood outside the double doors. While they didn’t stand as rigidly as Fraser had to they were never the less just as alert to their surroundings. 

“Identification, please,” the older of the two spoke up, addressing Constable Fraser. After looking over his credentials and the letter of introduction the Inspector had sent with him, the guard opened the door for Fraser and Diefenbaker. “See Officer King. Bear left, his office is up the stairs.” 

“Thank you kindly, Officer Gentry,” Fraser nodded after reading the officer’s name tag. 

Though he hated stairs, Diefenbaker led the way to the small office suspended above the huge, open floor filled with cots to one side and rows of school lunchroom style tables on the other. People milled about between, children playing while adults and young people amused themselves more quietly. 

Officer King looked up from the mountain of paperwork overwhelming his desk as Fraser opened the door. The officer laid aside his reading glasses and stood. He kept his salt and pepper hair in a buzz cut. From his presence, Fraser wondered if Officer King had spent time in the military before working for U.S. Customs. 

“Constable Benton Fraser, R.C.M.P, currently serving with the Canadian Consulate,” Ben introduced himself. He felt a solid thump to his leg from Dief’s tail reminding him to introduce him as well. 

“This is Diefenbaker, my wolf, though there seems to be Alaskan Husky in his background,” Fraser explained as he handed Officer King the introduction letter Inspector Thatcher had given him.

“Okay then,” Officer King quirked one, thick eyebrow as he peered at Fraser. 

“I appreciate Inspector Thatcher sending you to us. We only have one translator for the time being. Our second translator is on maternity leave. I’ll have one of my officers settle you at an interview station.” Fraser and Officer King went over the particulars of the interview questions before sending the Mountie and Dief to work. 

**** 

As Fraser sat at the folding table across from the refugees, filling out paperwork the part of his brain not engaged in translation had time to suss out the odd way Inspector Thatcher had been acting around Mr. Lyle. She seemed on the defense around him. She’d begun to dress differently, in pants and frumpy blouses. At every chance, the Inspector found a way to avoid being in Mr. Lyle’s presence, especially alone. 

From his observations, Fraser surmised that they’d gone to school together as teenagers. From his own teen years he knew how cruel other children could act toward one another. He remembered well the name calling, the snide and thoughtless comments he’d overheard about himself from others that just didn’t understand the introspective, shy boy. 

The Inspector must have endured so much for it to still traumatize her after so many years, Ben thought. She seemed every bit as troubled as the immigrants Fraser interviewed. Thankfully, Diefenbaker availed himself to those in need of comfort and distraction as Fraser conducted interviews. Most of them were young. They had been promised the opportunity of jobs and education in the U.S. Time and again they mentioned one name - Mr. E. None of them knew what that was short for and others assumed his name to be “Mystery”. 

It didn’t take Einstein to make the connection from Mr. E to Mr. Alberto Edvige, James Lyle’s business associate. Fraser sketched Mr. Edvige’s image on a legal pad and began showing it to the immigrants. They shook their heads despite obvious recognition. The immigrants had family back in China to protect. Fraser supposed he couldn’t fault them there. 

By the end of the day, Fraser had decided to speak to Inspector Thatcher before pursuing Mr. E as a lead to who had dumped twenty-odd souls like trash. He doubted she would be eager to hear the news considering she and James Lyle had dinner plans that evening with Mr. E. 

**** 


	8. Dinner at the Shaw

** _The Consulate … _ **

_ Why in hell did I let myself get wrangled into dinner with James - again,  _ I asked myself as I worked on payroll. I didn’t know any of the details; the restaurant, time or even if we had reservations. A lack of details aggravated me to no end. Lyle still hadn’t even hinted at the reason behind needing a twenty-four hour bodyguard. None of it made sense the more I thought about it. Where did Mr. E fit into it all? And was there any connection between Lyle, Mr. E and those fraudulent ID’s? 

I threw down my pen when I almost gave Constable Turnbull a $1000 pay raise. With James Lyle at the consulate I’d been reluctant to leave my office. 

“I’ve seen enough of these four walls,” I muttered to myself as I shut down the payroll spreadsheet. 

TAP, TAP, TAP

“What now,” I wondered aloud, hoping it wasn’t James.

“Enter.” To my relief, Constable Fraser stepped into my office. 

“I hope I’m not interrupting, Inspector. I’ve just returned from the detention center.” Constable Fraser’s forehead creased as he looked across the desk at me. From the way he toyed with that slightly imperfect eyetooth it seemed something burdened him. 

“And?” I tried for a neutral tone. Constable Fraser had born James’s criticism and rude manner with more aplomb than I could muster. But then he always withstood the test of fire with utmost calm. 

“The majority of the adult immigrants mentioned Mr. E.” He proceeded to lay a sheaf of handwritten notes on my desk. Skeptical, I began leafing through them. 

“Perhaps you mistranslated?” I asked, hoping it was a mistake. 

“I’m afraid not, Inspector.” He then gently tugged out the bottom page of notes where he’d drawn a sketch of James Lyle’s beady-eyed sidekick. 

“What’s the connection between Mr. E and these immigrants? It’s suspicious that he’s in Chicago at the exact time they were found.” I detest having more questions than answers. With a million puzzles on my mind, I stood up and began to pace. As I did I felt Constable Fraser’s eyes on me but when I looked at him he’d picked up his notes and began reading. 

_ My imagination, I suppose, _ I thought sadly. 

“I believe the immigrants were in a container belonging to a subsidiary of Mr. Lyle’s company. How Mr. E figures into it I’m not certain yet,” he explained.

“Have you told the detective about your theory?” I knew he had before I asked the question. He told that annoying American detective  _ everything  _ it seemed. He trusted him more than he would ever trust me. I brushed that aside before I could feel anything about it. 

Well, maybe just a hint of jealousy.

“Yes. Detective Vecchio is looking into it as we speak.” Fraser met my gaze expectantly. 

“I suppose he does have an easier time with the American side of things than we would.” He didn’t contradict me. 

Another tap on my door interrupted my thoughts. After I called him in, Turnbull handed me a message.

“Damn! I’d forgotten dinner with James and Mr. E.” I felt like crumpling the paper but didn’t. It wouldn’t do to be even more dramatic.

“Sir, Mr. E won’t be available for dinner tonight. He said he’s feeling under the weather,” Turnbull informed me politely. 

The thought of an evening alone with James made my flesh crawl. His innuendos, his leers and derogatory manner had my mind spinning. How to get out of it? 

“Inspector Thatcher, perhaps Mr. E would like some company this evening while you and I accompany Mr. Lyle to dinner?” Constable Fraser phrased it as a question but I wondered if it were a suggestion, a way out. 

“Yes. If he’s under the weather perhaps he shouldn’t be left alone too long. He may need something.” I hopped on that bandwagon eagerly. Under no circumstances did I want to spend even one minute with James Lyle unsupervised. 

I started to hand Constable Fraser the note James had sent me. 

_ So you’re not into casual sex? Fine, I’ll put on a tux and we can call it formal sex. Until tonight. ~ James  _ He’d written the name of the restaurant and the time below.

“Meet me at the consulate at seven. Dinner is at The Shaw.” With that I dismissed both constables. Hopefully, the Shaw wasn’t as expensive as the Althea. 

**** 

** _Seven P.M. … _ **

Fraser smoothed his hair once more in front of the mirror while Diefenbaker pretended not to watch. 

“I know you and I haven’t spent much time together lately.” The wolf huffed as if to say,  _ No kidding. _ “But as soon as Mr. Lyle leaves things will return to normal,” Fraser continued, ignoring all lupine disbelief. 

“Ah-shew! Ah-shew! Ah-shew!” echoed through out the first floor as Mr. Lyle descended the central staircase. 

“Where the hell is that dog!” the man boomed out as he opened the first door he came to. 

Diefenbaker scrambled from his place beside Fraser’s desk and shot out the door and down the hallway. When Mr. Lyle reached Constable Fraser’s home-office he marched in, his face either red from anger allergies. 

“Constable Fraser, I thought I asked you to keep that dog somewhere else while I was staying at the consulate.” He stepped into Fraser’s personal space, attempting to use his superior height to intimidate. 

“My apologies, Mr. Lyle. My friend was unable to take care of Diefenbaker this evening.” Fraser didn’t back down or cower in the least. He met the other man’s eyes steadily as he spoke. 

“See that that animal is gone before we return from dinner.” Lyle punctuated his sentence by stabbing a finger into Fraser’s chest. Still, Fraser didn’t back away or respond. 

“Understood?” Lyle growled. To which Fraser only nodded. Lyle turned on his heel and left the small office. 

**** 

** _Down the Hall … _ **

Diefenbaker grumble-growled as he walked into the Inspector's office. He settled down by the door, his head on his paws. Meg took one look at the wolf-dog and knew how he felt. He didn't like James Lyle any better than she did.

“He is such a pompous …” Meg stopped when she heard Constable Fraser's footsteps in the hallway.

“Constable,” Meg spoke.

“Yes, Inspector,” The Mountie stopped short in the doorway, eyes wide. 

“Diefenbaker! You shouldn't bother the Inspector,” he scolded the wolf-dog, wagging his finger at him. 

“He's fine, Constable Fraser, I'll give him refuge.” She smiled tiredly, leaning back in her desk chair. 

“Even so, my apologies, Inspector Thatcher.” Fraser squatted down to nearer eye level to the wolf who lay on his belly.

“You should thank the Inspector for her hospitality.” He wagged an index finger at the wolf who seemed to be following every word. Dief raised his head then stood up and padded over to the Inspector and offered his paw as if to shake. 

“You’re quite welcome,” She let him lay his paw in the palm of her hand for a moment as their gazes met. 

Fraser stood back, aghast at the Inspector’s change of heart toward the wolf-dog. Usually she barely tolerated his existence. If the wolf-dog hadn’t been crucial in many of the cases that Fraser and Vecchio solved he doubted she’d allow him in the consulate at all. 

Diefenbaker nodded and then pulled his paw back from the Inspector’s hand before finding an inconspicuous spot under one of the wingback chairs in the corner of the room. 

“I suppose it’s time to start out for the restaurant,” Inspector Thatcher spoke, breaking into Fraser’s thoughts. 

“Yes, sir. It is 6:31pm,” he informed her, consulting his father’s R.C.M.P. issue watch.

“Ah, Margaret, there you are. Are you ready for a quiet dinner at the Shaw?” James zeroed in on her as he waltzed into her office. 

“Yes, James. Constable Fraser was on his way to collect the car.” Meg didn’t even feign a smile. She hadn’t changed from her business attire or even freshened her make-up.

“The three of us?” James’s expression shifted from hopeful and leering to a glower in a flash.

“You requested a twenty-four-hour bodyguard,” the Inspector reminded him flatly. Even the deaf wolf heard the steel tone of her voice. Pissed though he was, James kept his own council. The Inspector gathered her purse and allowed Constable Fraser to help her into her coat before leading the trio out to the sidewalk in front of the consulate. 

****

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have chapter 9 about half written but I make no promises that it will come out any sooner than any of the other chapters have. Sorry. =(


	9. Dinner from Hell

** _Somewhere in Chicago … _ **

“How was I supposed to know the constable spoke Chinese? It wasn’t in his dossier. There was no way to know he would find out I recruited those immigrants. It’s only a matter of time before U.S. Customs discovers who the shell company really belongs to.” The man holding the payphone handset looked around the dark streets, double checking that he was alone. This assignment had aged him ten years in only a few months. 

“I’ll bring up the trafficking ring at the meeting with Tovey if I can keep a leash on Lyle. He’s unpredictable. Thankfully, he’s been distracted with Inspector Thatcher.” The caller felt bad for his hand in Lyle’s behavior toward the RCMP officer but told himself it was in the best interest of the assignment. 

“I will. Just make sure you have everything you need to make this case stick. Tovey is as much a stone cold killer as any I’ve come across.” The caller listened for a moment before hanging up and disappearing into the night.

** _****_ **

** _Meg’s POV … _ **

When Constable Fraser brought the Towncar around I didn’t wait for him or James to open my door. I hustled into the passenger seat beside Constable Fraser as if he were driving a get-away car. James harrumphed as he slid into the backseat alone. 

Tough.

I ignored James’s few attempts at conversation in favor of wondering what he and Mr. E were up to here in Chicago. We pulled up in front of a one story building of Tennessee Fields tone architecture with a wide, vaulted window near the entrance and a charming brook falling over rocks curling around from the side into the front landscaping. 

“Sheesh, I hope this rock monstrosity doesn’t topple over before h’orderves,” James commented. From the corner of my eye I saw Constable Fraser admiring the woodwork accents to the layers of natural stone and the restaurant’s name placard done in wrought iron and suspended between field stone columns about chest high. 

Inside, we were greeted by a friendly young man in smart black slacks, white shirt, bow tie and jade green vest replete with watch, watch chain and fob. It was a bit much but I appreciated the effort. 

“We have reservations for James Lyle,” he stepped up and spoke to the young man before I could. 

“Three of you?” the host asked as he pulled menus from behind the reservation stand. 

“Do you see anyone else?” James cracked as he adjusted his gold cufflinks, making them glint in the warm lighting. The host grinned wider and pulled out three menus.

“This way, please.” He led us to a booth seat halfway along the wall. James took one outside seat while I nudged and glared Constable Fraser into sitting between us; the Great Wall of Canada, so to speak. 

“I wonder what they have, hamburgers and apple pie?” 

I caught Constable Fraser’s eye and he had one brow raised while I rolled my eyes. If I had a loonie for every one of James’s snide comments since his arrival I’d retire to Fiji. 

“May I take your order or would you like a moment?” a brunette woman of about thirty asked, order pad in hand. Despite the chandelier over the table, I couldn’t see the prices, printed in tiny print. 

“A moment, please,” Constable Fraser answered. I suspect he knew of my myopic eyesight and felt the need to assist. 

“I’ll have the lobster thermidor and …” I saw Fraser raise his eyes as if to look at the chandelier, indicating that James’s dinner tab would be hefty. 

“The Burgoo looks good,” Constable Fraser stated to no one in particular. I caught his eye and raised one brow in question. He gave an imperceptible nod. Burgoo it is then. 

“I’m not much for French food,” James snarled his nose at the suggestion. Little did he know. Put some garnish on a can of cat food and he’d probably eat it if it cost enough. 

“Are you ready?” the waitress appeared once more, this time with glasses of water. She only gave James a cursory glance, instead addressing me and Constable Fraser. We rattled off our orders while James dictated every detail of his. I made a mental note to leave a generous tip to make up for his attitude. 

James, Constable Fraser and I sat in silence for a moment before I decided what topic to bring up in conversation. 

“How is your business trip going, James? Constable Turnbull tells me you had a meeting with Lemoine Tovey of Tovey Industries. He has a wide variety of interests worldwide.” I studied his reaction closely, as did Constable Fraser, though the constable wasn’t as obvious about it. 

“Mr. Tovey is interested in doing business with one of my contacts. I’m here to act as a liason. You know all about those, liaising as you do with everyone.” His eyes flashed over to Constable Fraser. 

Bingo! James didn’t want to talk about Tovey. 

“Are you familiar with Snipe Shipping Company, Mr. Lyle?” Constable Fraser asked directly. I hadn’t wanted to take that tack just yet so I slammed the side of my foot into what I thought was Constable Fraser’s boot. When I saw James’s brow raise and a leering grin slide across his face I knew I’d made a mistake. 

“I’ve heard of it, yes.” James barely spared Fraser a glance before he began looking me over. Thankfully, I’d worn my largest silk scarf tied at the back of my neck, allowing the material to obscure any visible decolletage. 

“It has made the news lately but no one can seem to figure out who owns it - yet.” I glared at Constable Fraser, silently willing him to silence. 

“Hmm, really. I haven’t been following the news since coming to Chicago.” James looked away from both of us. Thankfully, before Constable Fraser could follow up the waitress arrived bearing our dinners. She set a bowl of what looked like beef stew down in front of Constable Fraser and myself with small muffins of some kind to the side. I took comfort in the sight of vegetables in the unfamiliar concoction. Gingerly, I laid my napkin over my lap and found my spoon. The burgoo paired nicely with the Argentinian Malbec I’d ordered. Constable Fraser of course drank water with his meal. James drank his expensive chardonnay as if it came out of the water tap. 

“I’m surprised your associate, Mr. E, wasn’t able to make it to dinner tonight. Is he feeling alright?” Figuring out how the enigmatic man fit in had been gnawing at me for days. 

“He’s fine, just tired,” James answered off-handed as he dug into his lobster. Before I could think of my next question I felt his loafer nudge into my pump. 

_ Oh no, here we go again, _ I thought. None too gently, I brought the heel of my pump down on the toe of his shoe. From the way he winked at me I’d made another mistake, he liked it kinky. I tried not to visibly shiver at the thought. 

“Constable Fraser, what time is that, uh, that  _ thing _ we have tonight?” I caught his eye and hoped he saw the ruse. 

“Sir?” he asked hesitantly, the picture of innocence. 

“The THING, Fraser. You know, me, you and…” I gave him a pointed look paired with a what I hoped was a seductive grin. 

Fraser shoved a scoop of his Burgoo into his mouth without making sure it was cool enough not to burn him. He began guzzling drinks of water from his glass between coughs. 

“I’m,  ** _cough_ ** , I’m not certain, sir.” He wiped tears from his eyes. “Eight P.M. perhaps?”

I reached over and pulled his left wrist closer, auscpiciously to look at his watch. 

“My, it’s getting late. We should take James back to the consulate if we want to be on time.” For effect, I batted my lashes at Constable Fraser. 

“Ah hell, why don’t you two just get a room. You might as well be screwing him right here on the table.”

Constable Fraser slid around the horseshoe shaped booth until he was in James’s personal space. “Apologize, Mr. Lyle!” Fraser demanded. I sat wide-eyed on the opposite side of the table as James leaned away from the usually mild-mannered officer. 

“What for? Everyone knows Margaret is a slut and always has been.” The restaurant grew eerily quiet as every guest stared at our table. James had stood up, using his superior height to tower over Constable Fraser. 

“I demand on Inspector Thatcher’s behalf that you publicly apologize for such disrespectfully, slanderous talk.” Constable Fraser surprised me when he stood up, almost chest-to-chest with James. Fraser’s hands curled into fists at his sides was the only sign of his anger. He hadn’t raised his voice and his expression remained neutral. 

“Piss off, Constable,” James countered, leaning into Fraser’s face. 

I elbowed my way between the two men, facing Constable Fraser. “Constable, leave it. He’s already showed himself to be an ass. Let’s go.” 

“Run along home, Constable,” James taunted. He laid his hands on my hips and I felt him move his crotch against my posterior. Constable Fraser must have seen my expression change because he opened his mouth. Before he could do anything though, I threw my head back as hard as I could right into James’s nose and mouth. Then I brought my pump heel down on the arch of his foot. I heard the sickening crunch of bones.

“What the hell!” James bellowed, grabbing his nose and hopping on one foot. 

“Oh, I’m sorry. How clumsy of me, Mr. Lyle.” I laid my hand over my mouth to keep myself from laughing out loud. 

“You bitch! You broke my nose.” Indeed, blood gushed from his nostrils and into his cupped hand. “I think I swallowed a tooth, too.” 

“Excuse me, please,” the host who’d seated us spoke up. All three of us turned to look at him. 

“If you don’t leave willingly I’ll have to call the cops.” He held up a cordless phone as a warning. 

“You do that, I want to file assault charges,” James managed around his missing tooth and bloody nose. 

“And I’ll file sexual assault charges to go with them. I’m sure there are several witnesses here who would vouch for me,” I warned, pitching my voice to be heard at the other end of the room. 

“Bitch!” He shook his fist at me as I stood with Constable Fraser standing only inches behind me. 

“That’s it. You’re out of here.” The host took James by the elbow and began maneuvering him toward the door. James didn’t put up much of a protest, hobbled as he was with a broken foot. 

Constable Fraser and I headed toward the back exit and the parking lot beyond. The consulate’s Towncar looked more beautiful than anything I’d ever seen. Constable Fraser opened the rear passenger door for me but I shook my head and indicated I’d rather sit up front - with him. 

“Goodness, I’ve wanted to do that to him for the last twenty years.” I stretched out in the velveteen seat, my pounding head gingerly leaned against the headrest. 

“Mr. Lyle is a  _ distasteful _ sort of person to deal with,” Constable Fraser commented. 

“He made my teen years hell. He bullied most of us but it felt like me in particular.” Silently, I slipped my feet out of my pumps. 

“I envy you. I bet there weren’t any bullies in the Territories.” According to Constable Fraser’s personnel file, his grandparents had home schooled him most of his childhood. 

“On the contrary. *Insert dead otter story here*” He shook his head. 

“Tonight feels pretty good but tomorrow we’ll have consequences to face.” I sighed. From halfway across the city I could just hear my office phone ringing with an incoming call from my superiors in Ottawa. 

Still, I wouldn’t have done anything differently. 

“I highly doubt anything will come of what transpired tonight. Mr. Lyle’s involvement with Mr. E., Mr. Tovey and the fraudulent IDs will come to light soon enough.” Constable Fraser spoke like he knew something I didn’t. 

“Let’s hope so,” I replied as I watched traffic pass us by. 

****


	10. You're Under Arrest

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Terribly short. My apologies.

** _The Next Day …_ **

When I arrived at the consulate Constable Fraser stood sentry duty with his eyes firmly affixed to the building across the street. Still, I nodded as I passed him. Inside, Constable Turnbull waited in the foyer, wringing his hands and pacing. 

“Good morning, Constable,” I addressed him on my way into my office. 

“Sir, you have several telephone messages from Ottawa.” He handed over at least a dozen white pages torn from the call long. 

“Thank you, Constable.” From the way Turnbull hovered as I made my way into the office I knew there was at least one more thing. 

“Yes, Constable Turnbull?” He stopped short when I spoke. 

“Sir, one of the calls I received this morning was from Mr. Lyle. It seems he’s in the Cook County Department of Corrections, something about an incident last night at the Shaw restaurant. He was quite upset and difficult to understand over the phone.” 

I turned to hide a smirk.  _ I bet he was hard to understand with a broken nose and a missing tooth, _ I thought. No matter the fallout with Ottawa, standing up to James had been worth it. 

“Any word from Mr. E this morning?” I wondered where he had slunk off to. 

“He left shortly after I arrived this morning. He did mention a meeting with Mr. Tovey. Strangely, he didn’t ask about his associate Mr. Lyle.” Constable Turnbull frowned. 

“When Constable Fraser returns from sentry duty please ask him to come to my office. I will be on the phone with Ottawa so take a message if anyone else calls. Thank you, Constable Turnbull. Dismissed.” With a nod, he left my office and me with a fist full of messages to deal with. 

**** 

** _Outside the Consulate … _ **

Constable Fraser regretted not trading sentry duty with Constable Turnbll. Ottawa had been calling since seven AM. Fraser had hoped to offer his help in smoothing things over with their superior officers. Inspector Thatcher hadn’t seemed too worried about the fallout the night before. 

Instead, she’d seemed relieved. She’d sat up front with him, unusual. Then she’d let the window down about an inch so the wind played with her hair. Her voice, her twinkling eyes, it had all reminded him of the Inspector he’d connected with while on the train headed for the Musical Ride. This time there hadn’t been a toe tingling kiss and nothing to be ordered to forget. All the same, Constable Fraser enjoyed the insight into the woman beneath the Inspector rank. 

**** 

** _Across the city …_ **

Mr. E took a deep breath as he waited on Lemoine Tovey to round his desk. Nothing had gone as planned on this op. James Lyle had been a head strong, grade-A jerk and a nightmare to manage. Constable Fraser’s handy dandy Chinese translation hadn’t helped matters either. While Mr. E had recruited immigrants for the U.S. Customs to eventually find in the United States, Lyle had been hip deep in booze and Shanghai’s finest call girls so none of the immigrants had seen his oversized Canadian face. 

_ All my hard work is going to pay off today. It HAS to pay off, _ Mr. E. thought silently. 

“Where is Mr. Lyle?” Tovey asked without preamble. His face had all the expression of a dime store indian. 

“He wasn’t up to attending this morning, Mr. Tovey. I’m here on his behalf.” 

_ Keep him talking. Kill time,  _ Mr. E told himself over and over as he sat across the antique desk from the man responsible for the enslavement of countless men, women and children. 

“Has he decided to accept my offer or do I send the photos to the press and authorities?” Tovey leaned back in his heavy chair, his fingers steepled. 

“Mr. Lyle asked me to look over the paperwork before signs. He’s otherwise ready to accept your offer.” 

As Tovey withdrew a sheaf of files his desk phone rang. He gave the device a glacial glare before answering. Tovey listened to a shrill female voice on the other end for a moment, swore softly and then hung up.

“There’s been a development in another deal. I’m going to have to reschedule this meeting, hopefully at a time when Mr. Lyle can also attend.” As Tovey began to rise Mr. E scooted forward in his chair.

“Looking over the paperwork won’t take but a minute and then Mr. Lyle and I will be out of your way; no need to reschedule for a few signatures.” The smaller man put on a genial smile and laid one hand on the file folder Tovey had laid aside to answer the phone. Mr. E watched Tovey’s face pale as the doors to his office were thrown open and armed officers swarmed the desk. 

“Hands up!” one of the officers ordered. 

“You, Mr. Lemoine Tovey, are under arrest.” Mr. E’s dark eyes gleamed as he listed a partial list of crimes Tovey would hopefully serve a lengthy prision sentence for. 

Realistically, Mr. E knew Tovey would get a slap on the wrist but in shutting his operation down they’d interrupted a billion dollar illicit trade. In the coming days other raids on smaller scales would take place and send the lower level scum to jail. 

****


	11. Just Desserts

_ **11:00 AM Central Daylight Time** _

_ **Chicago, Illinois** _

Lyle held his head as he slowly walked out of the Cook County Corrections Facility. They’d released him after a breakfast of awful tasting coffee, fried bologna, eggs and gravy. Having missed dinner the night before, he ate it quickly. 

At the gate a cab waited to take him to the Canadian Consulate where he could, hopefully, eat a decent meal and get some rest before meeting Mr. Tovey. His face ached and his Italian loafer barely fit on his bruised and swollen foot. Not to mention he’d lost one of his pristine, white teeth.

He crawled into the gray Gemini cab wearily and gave the driver the consulate’s address. 

James had one other mission when he next saw Inspector Margaret Thatcher - revenge. 

**** 

** _Canadian Consulate … _ **

I watched from the window of the Queen’s Bedroom as the American authorities pushed and shoved James toward a black SUV. He roared and snarled every step of the way, reporters snapping pictures. A tap on the open door brought me back to reality. Watching James get his just desserts wasn’t as satisfying as I’d imagined.

“There’s a phone call for you, Inspector - from Ottawa.” Constable Fraser didn’t hide the pensive expression on his face when I turned to face him. 

“Thank you, Constable Fraser,” I gave him a small smile to which he nodded. 

As I stepped to the door, near enough to smell his leather polish I paused and took a deep breath. If Ottawa wanted to reassign me I wanted to spend an evening with Fraser, just talking, anything really.

“They probably won’t let us back in The Shaw but maybe we could have dinner somewhere tonight?” I watched Constable Fraser’s eyes widen.

“I hope I’m not being forward, Constable but I’d like to thank you - properly for all your assistance.” My mouth went dry as my words formed. “For your friendship.” 

At that he cocked his head and lifted one brow. My heart raced. Had I misunderstood his attitude? Was he only doing his duty or adhering to professionalism? 

“Seven PM, sir?” he offered.

“Yes, seven it is - one one condition?” Again, he lifted one brow as he looked into my eyes. Goodness, but his eyes are SO blue.

“Call me ‘Meg’?” I watched a smile start to form on his face.

“Very well - Meg.” 

“I look forward to seeing you then.” I floated out of the room. 

**** 

** _The Inspector’s Office … _ **

“Inspector Thatcher speaking,” I waited for someone on the other end to begin raking me over the coals about the incident at the Shaw restaurant. I had been bracing for it since the night before. 

“Inspector, I want to congratulate you on your part in taking down Lemoine Tovey and his human trafficking ring. I expect you’ll be cited for working with Agent Edvige. A brilliant piece of work, getting Lyle arrested.” 

I listened, stunned as my superior officer lauded my ingenuity. If Agent Edvige or ‘Mr. E’ as I knew him wanted to credit me for helping I’d take it. 

“Thank you, sir, but a citation isn’t really necessary.” I’d take his praise but a medal seemed too much, even for my hubris. The superintendent went on, gushing about how much of a credit I was to both the R.C.M.P and Canada. His words felt hollow knowing I’d the scene at the Shaw was all a personal matter between me and James Lyle; his arrest a coincidence. I hung up feeling like a heel. 

After the authorities whisked James away they descended on the consulate, asking questions and such. Thankfully, Constable Fraser had the foresight to escort them to the dining room where Constable Turnbull had coffee and pastries set up for them. I could deal with them one-on-one in my office as I chose. And since Fraser’s wolf seemed obsessed wtih junk food, I knew neither of them would be underfoot to distract me. 

As the Americans began to dwindle Agent Edvige or Mr. E, made an appearance. He seemed more relaxed but tired. 

“Inspector Thatcher, my apologies for all the deception. I’m Agent Alfredo Edvige with C.S.I.S. Again, I’m sorry for not letting you in on my plans before hand. With Lyle I had to adjust them almost minute-to-minute. I had to give my bosses a good spiel to cover for going into the Tovey meeting without him. I hope the superintendent didn’t go too hard on you.” He helped himself to one of my visitor’s chairs and began tugging on his tie. His suit was rumpled and he had dark circles under his eyes.

“Oh no, in fact Superintendent McCoy wanted to give me a citation.” I informed him. 

“Really? Well, that’s good news.” He nodded. “I do envy you though, getting to mess Lyle up like you did. I’ve wanted to slug him every day since I met him.” He punched the air to punctuate his sentence. 

“I’m sure there are others who share your sentiment. James Lyle was a bully as a teen and he’s only gotten worse with age.” 

“Thankfully, he doesn’t have any kids and I hope he never does.” Agent Edvige eased himself to his feet and began to adjust his tie.

“Inspector, if you ever want to switch to the C.S.I.S. I’ll put in a good word for you. You’re a smart lady with lots of potential in a my line of work.” He pulled a business card from his jacket and handed it to me. 

“Don’t be surprised if you get a call from one of my colleagues.” He shook my hand briefly but firmly. 

“I’ll give it some consideration. Thank you kindly.” I escorted him to the office door. When I stepped out Constable Fraser poked his head out of an adjacent office with a mug of coffee in one and a pastry in the other.

“For you, sir. I set aside the cream cheese and cherry danish, your favorite I believe?” He met my gaze steadily as I took the plate and mug from him.

“If you were any other officer I would think you were flirting with me,” I teased, hoping to engender less formality between us. For my efforts Constable Fraser gave me a genuine smile, dimples and all. 

“Perhaps I am, just a bit,” he admitted, his voice soft. I saw a familiar twinkle in his eye, the one I’d seen after he’d tricked me in the egg incubator months ago. 

“Thank you, Ben,” I smiled back at him freely. Glad he hadn’t frozen or started sputtering. 

We both went back to work. I couldn’t wait until we met again at seven p.m.

**** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have the next, and last, chapter half written. My apologies for keeping everyone waiting.


	12. Good Riddance to Bad Rubbish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meg gives Fraser a proper thank you for all his support during Lyle's visit.

** _Shortly before 7 P.M. … _ **

** _Canadian_ _ Consulate … _ **

Diefenbaker groaned as Ben went from humming to whistling “Frere Jacques” to himself. The wolf-dog had put up with his packmate’s insipid happiness with the alpha female most of the day. 

At least I’m back in my den, Dief thought, consoling himself. Staying with the human, Ray, was treat-filled but he still missed his packmate Fraser

“How do I look?” Ben asked, turning around to face Diefenbaker. The wolf-dog seemed to shrug as he looked up at his packmate. Ben wore his hiking boots, jeans and a t-shirt under a plaid one, both tucked into his already snug jeans. It all looked like shades of gray to Diefenbaker. 

“I don’t suppose fashion is a priority when you have a fur pelt,” Ben commented as he tried to tame the hair at the crown of his head. 

“ Sonnez les matines

Sonnez les matines

Ding, ding, dong

Ding, ding, dong

Ding, ding, dong

Ding, ding, dong”

Followed by a soft tap at the office door brought both wolf and man’s attention to their guest.

“I think you look just fine, Fraser.” 

**** 

** _Meg’s POV … _ **

I heard the tune of the children’s song we all knew well from down the hall as I neared Fraser’s quarters. Then I heard his voice as he spoke to the wolf. I couldn’t help but interject with the old song’s refrain. I also couldn’t help but answer the question the wolf hadn’t.

“I think you look just fine, Fraser.” And he did - fine enough to eat! He smelled of soap, fresh laundry and the NeatsFoot Oil he used on his leather belt and boots. He looked up from the wolf a picture of bewilderment, his hair brush still in hand. I leaned against the door jamb trying not to ogle him. A few beats hung between us before he spoke.

“Thank you kindly, Meg.” Suddenly realizing he still held his hair brush, he tossed it over his shoulder toward the cot. Of course it landed in the center as if he’d aimed. 

“I wasn’t certain what tonight’s dinner dress should be so …” he began babbling. “Well, I hope this is appropriate.” He indicated his casual outfit. “If it isn’t I can change in a dash.” 

I shook my head. “Again, I think you look fine. I haven’t changed out of my business suit, see?” I tugged on one of the buttons up the front. He didn’t seem convinced but wasn’t about to disagree. 

“Where would you like to go for dinner? Anywhere,” I offered. Had he suggested a picnic in the park or one of the tour boats on the river, I was ready for anything. Dealing with James Lyle, dealing with my adolescent hang-ups, all I wanted to focus on someone else for a bit. The way his eyes lit up when I complimented him bolstered my spirits as well. 

“I have a place in mind,” he said as he took his Stetson down from its peg. 

*** 

Fraser and I ended up at a drive-in movie theatre on the outskirts of the city. Warm temperatures and clear skies foretold a beautiful evening. Thankfully, it was just us in my car and a hand full of other cars spread out around the huge screen. 

“Well, this isn’t what I expected,” I opened once we’d parked. The drive had been pleasant, with Fraser giving me directions to this mystery spot. 

“I’ve never been to a drive-in, though I’ve seen them in movies and read about them,” Fraser spoke as he ran his thumbnail over his eyebrow nervously. 

“The last time I went to a drive-in was as a teenager. I’d gone with my parents to see  _ Close Encounters of the Third Kind _ .” I sat in the driver’s seat unsure of what to do. I’d been ready for anything - but this. 

“There is a concession stand over there.” I pointed to the cement block building attached to the projection house. Two little boys played with toy cars at a picnic table in the grass between the entrance and exit lanes. A covered shelter had been set up with overhead speakers playing the audio for the movie. Fraser and I walked up to the window and scanned the menu board. A teenage girl asked for our order. 

“I’ll have a foot long hot dog with everything but onions and bottled water. Thank you.” I dreaded trying to figure out who would pay. Would it be me because I’d asked or him because he was the guy? 

“I’ll have the same. Thank you kindly,” Fraser ordered quickly. He pulled his money from his hatband as I pulled my wallet from my purse. 

“I’ll pay,” we said in unison. I met Fraser’s gaze for a moment. He began running his thumb over his eyebrow before looking away.

“Dutch?” I offered, hoping to meet him in the middle. 

“That’s a fine idea.” He paid for his while I dug around in my wallet for another one dollar bill. Overhead, the fluorescent lights began to buzz and come on as it grew darker. 

After I paid, Fraser led us to the picnic tables. I sat facing the projection house while Fraser faced the screen. One bite of my hotdog and I had a mustard dribble down my chin. He’d thoughtfully remembered to bring extra napkins. Carefully, he dabbed the yellow dots off of my face. 

“Do you need anything else, Meg?” he asked before he began on his hotdog. It was sweet but I didn’t ask him to dinner to be waited on. 

“Fraser, please, sit. I’m fine,” I chided him softly. To prove it I took off my suit jacket and slid out of my pumps. Fraser followed suit, laying his Stetson off beside him. A cool breeze ruffled his hair, encouraging it to curl behind his ears. For a moment I saw him as a little boy with big blue eyes. 

“Meg?” 

I got the feeling I’d missed my cue at the sound of his voice. “Hmm, yes?” I tried to focus again. 

“The movie is about to begin if you’d like to go back to the car.” He gave me a puzzled look but soon swept it behind the Mountie Mask. 

“I’ll move over to sit beside you, if that’s alright.” Any excuse to get closer. A pleased smile lit up his face. I switched sides as the previews began to roll. 

After we finished eating and had thrown our trash in the can Fraser and I walked back to my car. With the setting sun the breeze had turned cold. 

“Why a drive-in, Fraser?” I asked after a few minutes. The movie wasn’t that great and the speaker sounded tinny. 

“Well, it seems that neither of us has had much luck with restaurants lately.” That made us both chuckle. “I wanted to share something new with you,” he continued, glancing at me from the corner of his eye. 

Fraser had chosen  _ me _ to share something new with, not Ray, not someone from the 27th Station, not Vecchio’s sister or another woman - ME. He’d gone out on a limb. I wasn’t about to cut that limb off beneath him. 

“Thank you, Ben.” Tentatively, I reached out and laid my hand on his as it lay between us on the seat. He turned to look directly at me, a bright smile on his face. I felt his thumb softly caress the back of my hand. 

“You are most welcome, Meg,” he replied softly. 

As we sat there watching the movie, still holding hands, we both began making fun of the actors. Ben made me laugh more than I had in ages with his subtle, dry humor. Making him laugh warmed my heart. Sharing something new with Ben instead of feeling awkward and stifled broke the barrier between us that night. 

Driving back into the city, Ben and I kept talking, and not just about the movie but about ourselves. When he asked me about James Lyle I hesitated. I’d long ago recognized that in dealing with James I’d learned to build heavy shields. If no one got close, I wouldn’t get hurt. If I did everything perfectly, I wouldn’t get made fun of or rejected. I’d applied those same tactics to my career and now to Constable Benton Fraser. 

“James was the most popular guy in school when we were teenagers. He played every sport our school offered, had all the popular girls as girlfriends. His family had money and a big name in the community. I suppose I was an easy target back then. My family had above average means but I was a bookworm, skinny, with braces, huge reading glasses and self-esteem issues like most teen girls do. The things he and his friends did to me were despicable, criminal. It wasn’t just me he terrorized though it felt like it. 

My second year I decided to change things. I went out for softball, began singing lessons and my parents bought me contact lenses. Things began to improve but James still tormented me at every turn. Finally, he graduated and I went on to do a year abroad and the Sorbonne before joining the R.C.M.P.” Not mentioned were the nights I spent crying or the ‘sick days’ I missed school, the begging to change schools, the thousand times a day I thought of running away or hurting myself to make the pain stop. 

Ben and I sat in the parking garage in silence when I finished my narrative. He peered out the window thoughtfully, his left hand firmly around my right. When the silence had stretched too long for comfort I spoke. “What is it, Ben?” 

He turned quickly to face me. “I wish I’d known you then. He wouldn’t have  _ dared _ bother you twice.” Ben’s eyes blazed as he spoke. I squeezed his hand, unable to speak for the lump in my throat. He looked down at his feet, embarrassed at his vehemence I suppose. 

“Thank you again, Ben.” I leaned over and gave him a chaste kiss on the cheek. He closed his eyes and let a small smile pull at his lips. Oh how I wanted to kiss those lips, but, I didn’t want to ruin the moment as I’d done before with Ben. 

“May I walk you to your door?” he offered a moment after the kiss. 

“Yes, I’d like that.” I found my purse while he came around the car to open my door. He offered me his arm, which I took. We took the elevator to my floor and walked down the bland hallway to my door. I wondered the whole way how to end the evening. We hadn’t been on a date but it wasn’t a professional outing either. I decided to play it by ear. 

“Thank you for asking me to dinner, Meg. I’m glad I was able to share the drive-in with you.” He held my hand but loosely as he looked into my eyes. I felt his gaze drift over every part of my face before he settled on my lips. 

“I had a good time, too. I’d like to go again with you - if you’d like to.” I hoped he didn’t take it as an order or consider it an obligation. 

“I’d very much like to. It’s a date then,” he half stated and half asked. 

“It’s a date.” I nodded affirmatively. “Perhaps your wolf would like to join us. He might not enjoy the movie but …” The way Ben looked at me had my brain going fuzzy. 

“I’m sure Diefenbaker could be cajoled into comin for a couple of hotdogs.” We both grinned. I’d seen Constable Turnbull lock himself into the broom closet so that the wolf wouldn’t steal his lunch. 

After a moment of gathering his courage I suppose, Ben leaned in and gave me a soft kiss to the lips. 

“Good night, Meg,” he bid me when I opened my eyes. At first all I could do was nod. 

“G’night, Ben,” I finally managed before he walked away. 

The End


End file.
